


Wait and Hope

by Sakharov



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-14
Updated: 2018-08-28
Packaged: 2019-06-27 06:36:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15679995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sakharov/pseuds/Sakharov
Summary: Gold is a wealthy businessman, Belle is pursuing a PhD at Columbia. When their paths cross there is a spark, but the fact that they come from different worlds (figuratively, at least) complicates them imagining they could have a future together.





	1. Wait and Hope

**Author's Note:**

> “Until the day when God shall deign to reveal the future to man, all human wisdom is summed up in these two words - Wait and hope.” (Alexandre Dumas, The Count of Monte Cristo)

 

***

“Good evening, sir. Can I get you anything to drink to start with?”

“An Old Fashioned, I think. And I’m ready to order. I’ll have the salmon, with asparagus and mashed potato.”

“Great. I’ll put the order in and be right out with your drink.” 

Gold nodded at the young waitress and sighed inwardly as his phone vibrated, signaling a new email. He was at one of his favorite restaurants and he normally tried to avoid looking at his phone. But lately things had been rather problematic, and it would be prudent to check to see if it was something serious. 

He pulled up his email and had assured himself that there was nothing that required urgent attention when the waitress returned with his drink. As she put it down and he thanked her, he noted that she was quite pretty and her eyes were a striking blue, but pushed the thought away, as it was neither here nor there.

“Enjoy,” she said, and then noticed the book he had on the table. “ _The Count of Monte Cristo_! That’s one of my favorites. How are you finding it so far?”

She was smiling at him and so he smiled back and said, “I quite like it. I’m almost finished, and it’s been a wonderful read. It has everything a good story needs – betrayal, plotting, sword-fighting, revenge, justice, hope. It’s been hard to put down.”

“I think the genre classification of ‘high adventure’ suits it so well,” she said.

And she was gone, off to attend to the other tables. Gold was careful not to watch her, but the smile stayed on his face as he opened the book and sipped his drink. It had been a small interaction, but a pleasant one. He was not a social man and there were not many people he cared to spend time with. So often he kept his own company, but he had grown used to it. He did not think too much of the brief conversation, save that it was interesting how such a small thing – a smile, a pleasant comment – could raise one’s spirits.

And maybe it was that, that slight raising of his spirits, that caused him to say something when she brought his main course.

“I’ll have another Old Fashioned. And, as a fan of _The Count of Monte Cristo_ , are you familiar with _The Three Musketeers_?” Gold asked her.

 “Oh yes,” she answered. “That’s certainly a fun novel as well, but personally for me it doesn’t quite measure up. I think it suffers from the fact that it was serialized, that Dumas wrote each chapter separately. I think it reads a bit too much like a comic.” 

“I’d be inclined to agree. A bit too much jumping from one duel to the next, with the musketeers constantly gambling away any money that falls into their hands. The plot of _The Count_ is certainly more intricate, with many more layers. Dantes is my type of protagonist, more so than d’Artagnan.”

“Both books are very enjoyable though,” said Belle, her eyes sparkling as she warmed to her subject. “I quite like the books and art from the romanticism period, especially the French authors – Alexandre Dumas, Victor Hugo, and such.”

“Ah, Victor Hugo. Whenever I’m in Paris I think it rather extraordinary that Notre Dame might not be there today if not for his novel inspiring renewed interest in the cathedral. Perhaps I’m also just partial to Gothic architecture.”

“I would love to visit Paris one day, to see the city for myself,” she said, somewhat wistfully, and Gold mentally kicked himself for acting so blasé about visiting France. 

“It is a special place,” he said. Their conversation had come to a pause, but for a moment they stayed still, each looking at the other, before she said quietly, “I guess I should make sure all the other diners are doing well. Bon appetite.” 

Gold was sorry to see her go; it had been nice, for a minute, to chat with someone about matters that had nothing to do with business. But it wouldn’t do to think like that.

When she returned a little while later to clear his plate and inquire about dessert, he decided to go for it, despite the fact that normally he would have passed. His decision was as much due to the fact that he was still happy from earlier as to the fact that he wanted the bill to be a bit higher, so he would be justified in leaving a larger tip (nothing too big, he didn’t want to seem creepy, but something generous).

Gold opted for the tiramisu, and was grateful she didn’t comment on the fact that he knew the menu by heart and hadn’t needed to look. The restaurant – a small, upscale, hole-in-the wall establishment on New York’s Upper East Side – was a favorite of his, and he had made it a Sunday evening tradition to dine there. He was a regular, although he noted that this was the first time he had seen the young waitress; maybe she was new or had just changed her schedule.

When she brought out the dessert, she asked, “Was Notre Dame really in danger before Victor Hugo’s novel?”

The fact that she had been listening earlier made him happier than he cared to admit. “Aye. After the French Revolution the revolutionaries didn’t have much use for such a decadent, religious building. They saw it as an outdated relic of the Middle Ages. Many of the statues were destroyed, the treasures re-appropriated, and so forth. It was in disrepair by the end of the Napoleonic Wars.”

She shook her head. “And today I think of it as one of Paris’s most iconic buildings. But I guess the buildings we consider invaluable historic monuments today weren’t always seen as such. Like how so many of the grand churches in Eastern Europe were re-purposed during communism. Some were used to stable horses or turned into planetariums. But I suppose those were the fortunate ones; so many were just destroyed.”

“I think it’s always a shame when history isn’t honored. I think when so many people consider a place so important, it becomes special, and one can sense that even if one isn’t religious or of that country.”

“I’d agree. Well, enjoy your dessert.”

And she was gone again. Gold finished his tiramisu and signaled for the bill.

As she was brought back his receipt, she said softly, “Have a good evening, Mr. Gold. Happy reading.”

“Thank you, and the same to you, Miss…?” he said, hoping to catch her name.

“French. Belle French,” said Belle, secretly pleased that he had asked. 

“Good evening, Miss French. Happy reading to you as well, as it seems you are quite the avid reader,” said Gold.

***

Over the course of the week, as she worked her way through her courses at Columbia and shifts at the restaurant, Belle found her mind going back to the man from Sunday evening. Mr. Gold. Mr. Eli Gold. She wasn’t quite sure what it was that kept drawing her mind back – the sharp intelligence, how handsome he was, that accent – but she couldn’t help hoping she would run into him again. Gold had seemed to have an established table and to know the menu, and so maybe he went there regularly. 

She told herself it was because it was nice to chat with someone, however briefly, about literature, and he was interesting. And somehow, she thought he wasn’t like those other older men who were too friendly and left tips that were much too big. He seemed different. But she also told herself not to have any illusions – he was wealthy, successful, distinguished, and probably had a family of his own and a circle of wealthy, distinguished, successful friends. He probably hadn’t been doing anything other than making polite conversation.   

But she still caught herself hoping, and felt oddly disappointed as the next Sunday evening wore on and the man wasn’t at the restaurant. But, as she was chiding herself for being silly, he walked in and was shown to the same table he had occupied the previous week. The table in her part of the restaurant!

Belle told herself to calm down and took a breath as she approached his table.

“Good evening, Mr. Gold. How are you today?”

Gold smiled at her and she had to remind herself not to read anything into the smile.

“Good evening, Miss French. I’m alright. It’s been a busy week, but I finished _The Count of Monte Cristo_. What an excellent book. How are you?”

“I’ve been pretty busy too. I’m glad you liked the book. Are you reading anything new now?” 

“I am, actually. I just started _In the Name of the Rose_.” Gold fought to keep his tone pleasant, and not betray how pleased he was that not only was Belle his waitress again, but that she remembered their previous week’s conversation. He didn’t want to come off as a creepy old man. She probably remembered similar things and chatted with the other patrons too.

“Really? That’s another of my favorites. I love Umberto Eco’s writing and I think that’s one book that tells such a good story and at the same time has such important ideas within its pages. Anyways, can I get you something to drink?”

“I’ll have an Old Fashioned,” said Gold, delighted she approved of his book choice.

“Ah, one for tradition, are we?” asked Belle, grinning, remembering that was his drink of choice the previous week too.

“Aye. Us old folks have to hold on to our traditions, even as this modern world is leaving us behind,” said Gold, his tone light to let her know he was joking (at least partially) and was gratified when she laughed and shook her head.

The evening passed much as the previous one had, with Belle and Gold chatting briefly as she brought him his drink and food.

Again, Gold made sure not to seem like he was watching her, keeping his eyes on his book and table, and so he didn’t notice a certain young man at the bar who was making Belle decidedly uncomfortable. 

Gold opted for dessert (chocolate soufflé) and as he finished he was sorry that he didn’t have a reason to linger, but he was cheered by the fact that perhaps Belle regularly worked on Sundays now, and perhaps he would see her the next week. His interactions with other people tended to be strictly matters of business, and so he told himself this was just the fact that it was nice to talk to someone who didn’t know who he was about a pleasant subject. Long ago he had decided to present a cold, impervious front to the world, and over the years he had almost forgotten there was more to him than that. 

As he paid they wished each-other a good night and a good week and Gold had to bite his tongue not to ask her something about herself. It would have simply been out of genuine friendly curiosity, but he didn’t want her to take it the wrong way. She was young and beautiful and smart, and he was… well, not the first two, at least.

Gold finished signing the receipt, and then his phone vibrated. Rolling his eyes, he figured he should check before he headed out, and when he did, he saw that there was something urgent to attend to. So he did end up lingering at the table, because drafting the return email, looking up the certain stocks and mutual funds to reference, and finding the appropriate Financial Times articles to quote took longer on his phone, but he wanted to get it done. 

When he was finally done, he saw that it was past closing time, and the restaurant had emptied. Only the man behind the bar was left, wiping it down. Gold got to his feet, pulled on his overcoat (the weather was getting colder, even though it was only November), nodded to the barkeeper, and headed out into the night.

 


	2. Chivlary Endures

Gold pushed open the restaurant door and headed out into the night. It was chilly, even though it was only early November, but he didn’t live far and didn’t mind the walk or the cold. 

As he turned down a small street, he stopped abruptly. There was a couple in what appeared to be an amorous embrace, the woman’s back against the wall and the man very close to her. Gold had just turned to go a different way when he heard the woman say sharply, “Get off me, Gaston. I’ve already told you.”

It was Belle. 

Without thinking he turned back and strode towards the two, anger flooding through him. How he abhorred those men who treated women disrespectfully. 

“Excuse me,” he said, his voice hard. 

Gaston stepped back quickly, quickly enough to confirm Gold’s hypothesis that the man’s attention was unwanted, and turned towards him, but he kept a hold on Belle’s wrist. 

“Why don’t you mind your own business, old man?” snarled Gaston, glaring at Gold. The street light glinted off his white-blond hair and threw his chiseled features, currently twisted into an ugly scowl, into sharp relief. 

“I think you need to leave the lady alone,” said Gold, his voice low and dangerous. As he met the man, stare for stare, something clicked into place – the hair, the name, the finely tailored clothes. “You’re Gabriel Rose’s son, aren’t you? Tut tut. Getting into trouble so soon? Daddy won’t be pleased. How much did he have to pay the last time to get the charges dropped? Enough to finance the DA’s campaign for a third term, if my sources are correct. I’d advise you to move-on, unless we want our esteemed DA to have her fourth term guaranteed.”

“Who are you?” snapped the man.

“I can see why you’re such a disappointment to your father. You’re not half the man he is,” sneered Gold, unable to resist and not one to pull punches. “How much did your father end up donating to Harvard in the end? I hear the new science addition is called the Gabriel Rose Science Wing. And that was undoubtedly after a sizable donation got you in the door in the first place.”

“Wait a moment. I do know you. The accent, the cane, the audacity to presume to lecture me. You’re Eli Gold.” But his tough façade was wavering as he realized exactly whom he was talking to.

“Well done, laddie. Now get lost.” Gold’s tone left little room for argument.

“If you want her, be my guest,” spat Gaston, trying to save face, but the speed at which he departed betrayed the fact that he was afraid of the other man. 

He jerked Belle’s arm as he let her go, and she, caught unawares, stumbled and fell. Gold reined in his anger and hurried to her side to help her up.

“Miss French, are you alright?” 

“I.. yes, I’m fine. Thank you,” she said, but she was shaking, and Gold saw that her hand was bleeding.

“You’re hurt. Here,” he said, and handed her his handkerchief. His heart was beating quickly, as much from the near confrontation as from the proximity to Belle.

“I’ll be fine, really. Thank you. You were fantastic,” she said softly, smiling tentatively at him. “I guess chivalry isn’t dead after all.”

“You’ve nothing to thank me for. ‘Twasn’t anything. I-” Gold brushed off her praise but paused, unsure how to continue. He wanted to stay with her until she had calmed down and make sure she got home safely, but he didn’t want to seem like he was taking advantage of the situation. “Would…. would you let me buy you a drink? I don’t mean to suggest anything by it but I would like to make sure you’re alright, and I would suggest tea, but at this time at night that could be hard to find and-”

“A drink sounds nice,” said Belle quickly, wanting to assure him she didn’t think he meant anything untoward. And she could certainly use a drink after Gaston. And if it was with Gold… well, that was a lovely, unexpected twist.

“There’s a nice little bar just around the corner,” said Gold, and they started to make their way towards it.

“Do you know him?” Belle asked, curious enough to inquire, even though she was worried he might think less of her if he thought she dated those types of men.

“I… I know of him. I know his father. We move in similar circles.” Gold wasn’t keen to elaborate and she didn’t push for more information.

By then they had reached the bar. They got a small table and placed their orders – mulled wine for Belle and an Old Fashioned for Gold. As they hung up their coats and sat, Gold noticed bruising on her wrist from being grabbed.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” he asked, a roughness to his voice.

Belle saw where he was looking and tugged her sleeve further down. “Yes. I’ll be fine. It’s… he’s… We dated, very briefly. He can be charming at first, but that wore off quickly. He never seemed to accept that I ended it though. But anyways,” she said, hoping to change the subject. “Have you been in New York long?”

Gold didn’t question the change in subject, and they started to talk. She found out he was from a small fishing village in northern Scotland and had come to New York as a young man hoping to make his fortune. He found out that she was from a small town in upstate Maine and was pursuing a PhD in Slavic Studies at Columbia, specializing in Soviet literature. 

As they chatted, they realized they enjoyed talking to each other a great deal. Belle found Gold charming and clever and someone who actually listened, and he saw that she was smart and funny and warm and could match his own dry sense of humor with sarcasm of her own. 

When the bartender rang the bell for last call and Gold waved for the check, he also decided to go forward with something that had crossed his mind the moment Belle had said she was interested in Russia. He figured it was worth it to ask, and if she said no, or seemed uncomfortable, that would be that.

“So,” he began. “I have two tickets for the opera, for Eugene Onegin, this week, and I was wondering if you might be interested in going with me. I receive tickets to the opera or theater or museum exhibits rather frequently, and it’s always two tickets, and I just thought, as someone who studies the region, you might be interested…” He trailed off, hoping he wasn’t blushing (that would be embarrassing), but realized she had been nodding before he got halfway through what he was trying to say.

“I would love to,” she said, smiling broadly. “Thank you so much for the offer. That sounds wonderful. I’ve always wanted to go to the Met.” And then, the happiness making her daring, she wrote something on a napkin, and pushed it over to him. “My phone number. You can let me know the details.” 

“I will be certain to do so,” said Gold, carefully pocketing the napkin.

The waiter brought the bill and Gold took it. Belle made a motion to get her wallet, but Gold shook his head. “No, no, I’ve got this. It was my invitation after all. And, as you said, chivalry is not yet dead.”

Belle smiled and shook her head, and he felt her smiling at him was payment enough for anything and he quickly looked down to sign. 

As they were leaving, Gold asked, “Will you let me get you an Uber? You mentioned you live in Washington Heights, and that is not an easy location to get to from here [Washington Heights is north of Columbia University, and the New York subway doesn’t make it convenient to get from the Upper East Side to that part of Manhattan].” He had suggested it thinking it was a way for her to get home safely and for him to pay for it, but he realized too late doing so would require her to give him her address, which hadn’t been his intention at all. 

But Belle smiled and shook her head and said, “I can take the subway. It’s what I always do, and it’s always running.”

“But I would feel better knowing-”

“I appreciate the offer, but I’ve really never had a problem taking the subway at night or in my neighborhood,” said Belle, cutting him off. He had been so kind, but she didn’t want him to think she need someone to look after her. 

“I have every confidence that you can more than take care of yourself, but surely it’s more pleasant and much faster to take an Uber,” countered Gold, trying a different approach. “Especially with all the subway delays and at this time of night and going all the way uptown.”

“I really couldn’t-” Belle began, but Gold said, “We could consider it an extension of the chivalry of earlier.”

Belle finally relented. “If you so insist.”

“I do,” said Gold, and handed her his phone to let her put in the address. 

“Very well,” said Belle. “Thank you, for everything.” And she touched his arm, ever so lightly. 

Gold shrugged it off, even though he could feel her fingers long after she moved her hand away, and waited with her until the car arrived. Watching it drive away, he turned and headed towards his apartment building, a big smile on his face. It had been a long time since he had had someone he could talk so easily with, someone who made him laugh and matched him sarcastic comment for sarcastic comment, someone he wanted to impress. It seemed they were going to the opera the following week; maybe they could become friends of a sort. He wouldn’t think of anything more.


	3. A Night at the Opera

On Tuesday morning Gold called Belle, but it went to voicemail. Caught unawares, the message he left was more abrupt that he intended.

“This is Gold. The opera is Thursday evening. I would be much obliged if you would join me for dinner following the show. My number is 510 – 939 – 0093. I will wait to hear from you.”

Afterwards he mentally reproached himself. What type of message was that? But he waited for her return call somewhat nervously, worried she might change her mind. 

The day wore on though, and his attention turned to other matters. Belle and the opera were pushed from his mind, and so when he answered the phone in the early evening, he expected it to be the call he had been waiting for for several hours.

“This is Gold,” he snapped, frustrated at how the day had turned out.

“This is Belle,” she said uncertainly. “Is this a bad time?” 

“I- No, not at all. I’m sorry, Miss French. I was expecting a different call, but no, this is a fine time,” Gold said hurriedly, cursing himself for not checking who was calling. 

“Sorry, I would have called earlier, but I had class and then my phone was dead but I wanted to get some work done in the library. So the opera is Thursday?” said Belle brightly, deciding she would have to get him to drop the “Miss French.”

“Aye,” said Gold quickly, wondering that someone could sound so happy to talk to him. “Thursday at 6. Perhaps we could meet at the Met at 5:30.”

“That would work for me!”

“And… would you care to join me for dinner afterwards? I know a nice restaurant not far from the opera house.” Gold held his breath as he waited for her to answer. 

“That sounds great. I’m looking forward to it.”

“As am I,” he said, trying not to sound too pleased. “Until Thursday, Miss French.”

“You can just call me Belle, you know.” He thought he could hear the smile in her voice.

“I suppose I could. But the old-world manners are hard to shake off.” 

She laughed at that. “Well, have a good evening, Eli.”

Her use of his first name sent a pleasurable jolt through him. “And the same to you, Miss- I mean, Belle.”

Belle was still smiling as she hung up, and when her roommate got home later that evening. 

Her roommate, Ruby, was one of her closest friends. In the middle of an MBA program at Columbia, Ruby was whip-smart and outgoing and always managed to get invited to the hottest club opening or finance firm’s holiday party. Even though she could be a bit over-the-top and was always the one pushing for them to stay out all night and ordering rounds of shots when they had a girls’ night, she was also fiercely loyal and Belle wouldn’t have traded her for anyone.

When Ruby got home and saw the smile, she guessed what had happened. “So Gold called?”

“Yes, he did. We’re going to the opera on Thursday,” Belle said, somewhat bashfully.

“So you have a date with Eli Gold,” she said, emphasizing his name. Ruby was knowledgeable about the important people in the world of high finance, the Wall Street brokers and hedge fund managers, knowledge Belle wasn’t interested in in the least. 

“I don’t know if it’s a date. I don’t know what it is. I enjoyed spending time with him and-”

“You’re going to the opera, for Christ’s sake. And with Gold! After he rescued you from Gaston. How is that not romantic??”

“I don’t know what it’s supposed to be! And for all that you keep emphasizing his name, I really don’t know much about him. But he doesn’t seem like these other Wall Street types we’ve met at the parties and clubs.” It was at a club opening that Belle had met Gaston. 

“But he is Eli Gold. His name is well-known in the higher circles, but he’s also notoriously secretive. Not all that much is known about his personal life, but mention of him can make or break a deal. Supposedly all you have to say is ‘Gold isn’t likely to back that’ and the plan gets thrown away.”

Belle shot her friend a look. Sometimes Ruby could exaggerate. “Come on, Ruby. I don’t know him that well, but-”

“But he’s an older man with power and money and opera tickets, so what more do you need to know?” said Ruby mischievously. “I think you like him more than you’re letting on!”

“We only really talked the one time! And if he really is all you’re saying he is, we come from different worlds. Maybe he’s just tired of watching the opera alone.”

“Maybe he’s tired of doing more than just watching the opera alone…” said Ruby, with an evil grin. 

“I think he’s just being nice. I don’t even know if he sees-” Belle began, but Ruby disappeared into her room. “Ruby! Where did you go?”

Ruby reappeared and dumped a handful of condoms on the table in front of Belle. “For Thursday,” she proclaimed naughtily. 

“Jesus Ruby! I don’t even know if it’s a date,” said Belle, blushing. “And even it if is, it’s only really the first-”

“But what do you want it to be? Better safe than sorry.” 

Belle shook her head at her friend. “I don’t know what he’s thinking. And even if there is something there, I want to take it slow because I think it could be something special. And what even is this?” she asked, hoping to divert attention of herself. If she was being honest with herself, she hoped there was something.

“That is a female condom,” said Ruby. “And to use-”

“Ok, ok,” said Belle, holding up her hands to stop her friend from launching into a lecture on contraceptives. “I don’t want to deplete your store of condoms. And if it seems like it’s going somewhere, I’ll make an appointment with the health center on campus, but I don’t expect to need anything Thursday.”

“Just take some! Just in case. You don’t want to be in a position where you wish you had some. Besides, there’s something to be said for an older, more experienced lover and he’s not at all unattractive…” Ruby added thoughtfully. 

“No… he certainly isn’t unattractive…” conceded Belle reluctantly, finally taking a few condoms (telling herself she would just leave them in her bedside drawer for now) and not adding that she thought him quite handsome. The intelligence, the sharp wit, the accent…

***

On Thursday Belle was nervous as she headed to the Met. Was it a date, or wasn’t it? Could he have romantic feelings towards her? She kept thinking how unsure he had seemed, how, for all Ruby’s talk about how he might be one of the most powerful men in the city, he had seemed hesitant to take the initiative. It was sweet, but maybe it just meant he didn’t want to waste the extra ticket.

And what did she want? She finally settled for telling herself she’d like to get to know him better. Her feelings towards him certainly weren’t unromantic, per se, but she kept going back to wondering what he could see in her. 

Belle arrived precisely at 5:30, but Gold didn’t get there until a quarter to six. She spent the time admiring the grand lobby and people-watching, until she spotted him. He looked harried and stressed, but smiled upon seeing her and made his way over.

Seeing Belle, the fact that she had actually showed up, made the stress of his day seem inconsequential. And she certainly looked lovely, in a red dress with her hair down… 

When they came together, she hugged him, and, surprised, it took him a moment to return the embrace. He told himself it was likely she hugged all her friends in greeting, and it meant nothing more.

“Hey,” she said. “How are you? I’m excited for the show.”

“Hello, hello. My week has been busy, as always, but I’m looking forward to the show. I suppose we should head to our seats. I have the tickets here.” He patted the inside pocket of his jacket and they turned towards the inner doors, but a voice stopped them.

“Gold.”

Turning, they saw an older version of Gaston, complete with the white-blond hair, ice blue eyes, and high-end wardrobe. It was Gabriel Rose, infamous hedge-fund manager (Gaston worked at his father’s firm).

“Rose.” Gold’s voice was as cold as Rose’s. The two were nemeses and couldn’t stand each-other. Several times over the years their interactions had made it into the gossip that circulated in the upper echelons of high finance.

The two men started each-other down for a moment, and then Rose’s eyes flickered to Belle.

“Well, well. Gold. Making an appearance at the opera, I see.”

“Well done Rose. 20/20 on the vision test, I think.”

Rose smirked. “So you finally caved?”

“What are you talking about?”

“You always thought you were too good to pay for companionship. I suppose things change.”

Gold felt his temper flare, but when he spoke his voice was calm. “How dare you. I think you owe the lady an apology. We don’t all have to resort to those types of services, you know.” His tone was pointed, and at Rose’s flush, Gold knew he had hit his mark.

“Careful, Gold.” But Rose’s tone lacked punch.

“Careful yourself. Or else you and that pathetic business you call a hedge fund could find yourselves in real trouble. With the SEC. Or the mob. Yoo’re not good at makin' friends, Rose. Yoo’d do well ter remember that.” His accent had thickened and no one who heard him would have thought he was bluffing.

Rose blanched for a moment, before recovering his sneer. “Come now Gold. Don’t try to scare me.”

“I don’t have to try. You know I don’t make idle threats. Now, you owe the lady an apology.” His tone left no room for maneuvering.

Rose glared at Gold, but said to Belle, “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” Gold might have been enjoying himself, at least a tiny bit.

“For implying anything inappropriate. I hope you have a nice evening.” But Rose’s tone and face suggested he wished them the opposite.

Gold nodded and said to Belle, “Shall we?” and offered her his arm and they headed in to the theater. 

Despite his show of calm, he was furious with Rose, and mortified that Belle had been subjected to that. What would she think of him? Would Rose’s comment make her think how other people had to see them? And why did they keep seeming to run into members of that infernal family?

But before he could apologize or enjoy the fact that her arm was linked with his, Belle asked, “So was that Gaston’s father? What a piece of work.”

Gold sighed. “Aye, that was Gabriel Rose. He is indeed a piece of work. I’m so sorry you were subjected to that-”

“You don’t have anything to apologize for. Again, you were wonderful.” And she smiled at him and lightly touched his arm and he felt like he was on top of the world. “I see where Gaston gets it though. Like father, like son, I guess. Could their hedge fund really go under investigation?”

They had reached their seats, and as they sat down, Gold said, “The hedge fund undoubtedly operates in a grey area. I know the SEC and FBI have checked periodically, but they’ve never come up with anything. That probably just means Rose is very good at hiding his sources or whatever else it is he’s up to.”

The lights dimmed and the music began and they were transported back to 19th century Russia. Belle had to keep reminding herself to pay attention to the show and not to the man sitting next to her. All too soon it was intermission, and Gold excused himself to go to the restroom.

Belle stayed in her seat, and couldn’t stop smiling. Despite running into Rose, it had been a wonderful evening so far. The music, the costumes, the company… She opened her purse to slide her program in, and her fingers felt something plastic. With a growing concern, she opened her bag further to see what it was, and saw a strip of condoms. 

Damn it, Ruby! she thought. She was going to kill her when she got back to the apartment. What would Gold think if he saw? Belle hastily zipped up her bag, sure she was blushing. This had the potential to be so embarrassing…

Gold returned and Belle was still blushing. He looked at her questioningly and asked if everything was alright.

“Oh yes,” she said, smiling and trying to forget what was in her bag. “I’m loving the show. I guess something like this is always different when you actually get to see it performed.”

They enjoyed the second half and then headed to the restaurant that Gold had in mind. It was a little French bistro and as they settled in and waited for their food, they were never at a loss for what to talk about. Conversation came easily and ranged over a wide variety of subjects.

Gold insisted on paying again, saying he had invited her, after all. As he was signing the receipt, Belle decided to suggest something where she could pay.

“I was wondering if you might be interested in seeing a Tarkovsky film with me next week. They’re doing a whole series at Film Forum. And it would be on me, a way for me to repay you for your generosity tonight.”

As Gold looked up, he tried not to sound too excited that she had suggested a second outing. “I would love to. I actually haven’t seen any of his films. And I always enjoy seeing films on the theater.”

Belle beamed. “I haven’t seen any either. And I always hear they’re best on the big screen, so I wanted to take advantage of the series at Film Forum. On Wednesday they’re showing The Sacrifice, if that would work for you.”

“Certainly,” said Gold, without mentally checking his week. Even if he had something, it could be rescheduled. “That sounds great.”

“And…” said Belle, deciding to be daring. “Maybe we could get dinner afterwards.”

“I think that would work for me,” said Gold softly, and briefly they shared a moment, smiling at each-other. 

As they headed out, Gold offered to get her an Uber, but this time she refused. “I’ll be fine, honest. And the 1 line is literally right here,” she added, pointing to the next block.

“But-” Gold began, but Belle shook her head. “I can take care of myself. You’ve done more than enough tonight. Thank you, for the opera and dinner and standing up for me.” And she kissed him on the cheek and was gone.

Gold was left watching her and smiling until she disappeared into the subway station. And then, still smiling, he waved down a cab for himself.


	4. A Night at the Movies

On Friday evening Belle returned to her apartment to find Ruby sprawled on the sofa. As she entered, Ruby sat up and watched her attentively, and Belle knew her friend well enough to know she had something she wanted to tell her.

“What?” she asked, somewhat warily, knowing that Ruby’s crazy ideas could have innocuous enough beginnings.

“Well… do you want to know what I’ve found out about Gold?” asked Ruby eagerly, and Belle got the sense she had been dying to tell her.

“Not really. I don’t want to hear the gossip,” said Belle, ducking into her room to drop off her bags. 

“Not even if he’s married?” asked Ruby.

Belle went swiftly to her door. “Is he?” she asked sharply, her heart rate increasing.

“No, don’t worry. It seems like he was though, a while back, but it ended. And she’s dead now. And there’s a son but no one knows anything about him.”

Belle nodded, feeling a pang of sympathy for the Gold. The man she knew didn’t deserve that. “Well, I guess that’s not too surprising, that he was married. As long as he’s not now, I don’t see that changing anything. I wonder where his son is.”

“I wonder what type of things he’s done to maintain such an air of secrecy…” mused Ruby. “I mean, normally it’s possible to find out more information, but with him it’s almost as if people think it’s in their best interest not to talk about his personal life. I guess you can find out a decent amount through an internet search, but it’s mostly business and company stuff.”

Belle rolled her eyes. “I think people might be exaggerating. He’s not scary. But,” she continued, as much out of interest as out of a desire to change the subject. “If we’re on the subject of finding out more information, what do you know about Gabriel Rose?”

“Gaston’s father? Hedge fund manager. They’re an old east coast family, with old money. Legacies at Harvard and all that. But it’s also a rather well-known secret that they’ve had to pay a lot of money over the years to stay out of trouble. And that Gaston is a disappointment to his father, but because family’s family and all that Rose Sr. can’t exactly dump him. Got to uphold the family name and family honor and all that.”

“I wonder how much of them being legacies at Harvard has to do with them being able to buy their way in…” said Belle, raising an eyebrow at her friend.

A look of delighted outrage crossed Ruby’s face. “Do you know something specific? Did Gold say something?”

“Let’s just say that the new science wing is named after Gaston’s father, and I don’t think it was entirely out of the goodness of his heart.”

“Ha! I’ll remember that the next time those business school grads try waving around their Harvard credentials.” Ruby had a vendetta against Harvard, partially just Ivy League rivalry, but also because she felt that Harvard students had doors open to them based purely on the name of their school and not merit. Belle felt considerably less strongly about the matter. 

“Well, I’d be interested in anything more you hear about the Roses,” said Belle. 

“I’ll keep my ears open,” promised Ruby, and their conversation turned to what to make for dinner.

***

Over the weekend, as she tried to get work done, Belle had to make a conscious effort not to google “Gold” and see what came up. She hadn’t been entirely truthful with Ruby, and if she was honest with herself, she was curious about him. As much as they had talked, he didn’t really talk about himself or business, and he was an intriguing man.

Finally, on Sunday she gave in and typed “Eli Gold” into the search bar. As Ruby had said, the results were not that revealing about his personal life, but Belle went down a rabbit hole of sorts into the world of financial consulting, as she read articles about Gold’s company and articles that quoted him. It looked like he headed his own company and sat on several boards and was frequently quoted and/or mentioned in the Economist or the Financial Times or the Wall Street Journal. 

The information was purely professional for the most part, and there really wasn’t anything about his personal life. Belle shook her head at herself. The search just showed he was quite the important person in the world of finance and that he was quite wealthy. She didn’t care about the money, but it did reinforce the fact that they really were from different worlds and moved in different circles. She was starting to feel unsure again when she closed the internet browser and told herself maybe she was just being silly. She tried to focus on being pleased they had another evening scheduled and not to think too far beyond that. She would learn about the man from the man himself, not from half-truths on the internet. 

***

For his part, over the weekend Gold alternated between looking forward to seeing Belle again and anxiety. He didn’t know what she could see in him, and he didn’t want to read more into their interactions than was actually there. When they were together the insecurities were suppressed, but on his own, the age difference and everything else rose up again. He didn’t see himself as a good person and he didn’t think people like him deserved they happiness he felt when he was with Belle. 

***

“Obviously you have to take the initiative!” proclaimed Ruby, on Tuesday night.

“No. I don’t think-” Belle began.

“But you really like him- And I know you do, don’t try to hide it. And it certainly seems like he likes you – he agreed to go to a 5 hour Russian movie where nothing actually happens with you, after all.”

“It’s not 5 hours and it does have a plot. That author just didn’t have the necessary patience,” said Belle (initially she had asked Ruby if she wanted to go see the film, but Ruby had read a scathing essay online and refused) but then she sighed. “I just don’t know. I don’t want to make a wrong move.”

“Maybe the fact that you care so much shows how much you want it to work,” said Ruby astutely.

“Maybe. But I don’t think there’s any reason to rush into things.”

“Except the fact that you want to!” said Ruby and Belle blushed but didn’t deny it.

“I just don’t know what this is. When we’re together, he seems so different from how he’s portrayed in all those articles. He’s done so well in a cut-throat industry, but when we’re together he seems… I don’t know, uncertain, maybe.” 

“Maybe he’s worried about making a wrong step too. And maybe he’s been hurt in the past. We established there’s not much out there about his personal life, but it seems like his divorce got really nasty. There were some ugly public confrontations and his ex-wife said some pretty awful things. Based on what you’ve said about him at least, it seems those things were unfounded, and so she was quite the piece of work.”

Belle resisted the temptation to ask what exactly his ex-wife had said and shrugged. “We’ll see what happens.”

“Go for it,” said Ruby. “Don’t sell yourself short, Belle French.”

***

On Wednesday Belle was already at the theater when Gold got there. He saw her as she saw him, and she waved and hurried over. This time he initiated the hug and kissed her on the cheek, and was rewarded with her bright smile. 

“Hey! I have the tickets,” said Belle. “Perhaps we should head in? It’s pretty cold out here.”

As they headed into the building, they agreed buttery popcorn was an important part of watching films, and so they stopped at the concession stand before finding their theater and seats.

Because they shared a popcorn, they sat close together, Belle leaning on the armrest in-between them, and Gold smiled as their fingers brushed as they both helped themselves to the popcorn.

“I always end up eating so much of it before the movie even starts,” admitted Belle.

“Aye, as do I. But it’s best when it’s warm, and that doesn’t last forever,” said Gold.

“Very true,” said Belle and then the lights were dimming and the movie began.

As the lights came back on, Belle looked at Gold. She hoped he had enjoyed the film, and hadn’t found it dull. But her fears were quickly abated as they fell into a conversation about it as they headed to the tapas restaurant around the corner that Belle had thought would be good for dinner.

“I quite enjoyed it,” said Gold. “I think it’s very much a European film, a far cry from the action-packed Hollywood movies, but it’s something that reminds you that cinema is very much an art form.”

“I’d agree. I loved the long shots and the music and everything that went into making the scenes. Tarkovsky’s films are certainly something different. Oh no, it looks like the restaurant I had in mind is closed,” said Belle, pulling up in front of the Spanish restaurant. “Hmm… there are lots of good places around. How do you feel about burgers? There’s a really good place across the street with gourmet burgers.”

“Burgers sound good to me,” said Gold, and they crossed the street and went into the restaurant.

They were shown to a booth, and Gold was inordinately pleased when Belle chose to sit next to him, instead of across from him. They enjoyed reading the menu, which had unique burgers with creative names that fit the toppings (for example, the Obama burger had pineapple, along with teriyaki sauce and onion rings, to honor his Hawaiian heritage), and placed their orders. 

Belle also got a Long Island iced tea, and when Gold raised an eyebrow at her drink choice, she ordered him one too. He pulled an exaggerated face when he tried it, and when Belle laughed, he thought how making someone else laugh was such a simple thing to bring so much pleasure. 

“What an interesting film,” said Gold, as their conversation returned to the movie. “I’d like to read more about Tarkovsky now.”

“I was thinking the same,” agreed Belle. “I think there are so many layers and symbolism and yet I think it’s very much Russian film, at the end of the day, even though Tarkovsky wasn’t making films in the Soviet Union anymore.”

“What happened? I think of him as Russian director, yet this film wasn’t in Russian.”

“The Soviet authorities weren’t keen on financing him, because they didn’t see the merit in some of his other films. And so he left the USSR and made several more films, culminating with The Sacrifice in Sweden.”

“Ah, interesting. ‘Tis a shame, when those who can’t appreciate art are in charge of financing it. It reminded me of the idea of the Faustian Bargain, although it’s the inverse. Faust is willing to give up his soul for personal gain, yet in the film the protagonist is willing to give up all he loves to save the world…”

And they continued to talk, even as they enjoyed their (messy) burgers, never lacking topics of conversation.

As they finished, Belle insisted on paying.

“I do wish you’d let me get it,” said Gold, not liking the idea of her getting the movie tickets and dinner when the stiped for PhD studies could hardly be much.

“This time I invited you, so it’s fitting that I pay. You can pay next time,” Belle said, showing her streak of stubbornness. 

“Speaking of next time,” said Gold, somewhat hesitantly but bolstered by her words. “Film Forum’s Tarkovsky series continues with Stalker on Sunday. Would you like to see that one?”

“I would love to,” said Belle, beaming, so pleased with how the evening had progressed. That Gold enjoyed the film too, that he had interesting thoughts on it, that he suggested another movie… “If it’s anything like The Sacrifice, it should definitely be seen on the big screen.”

They left the restaurant and headed out into the night. Gold was about to offer to call her an Uber, when she said she would take the subway.

“Are you sure? I’d be happy to call you a car,” he said.

“I am sure,” said Belle, smiling at his concern. “And the subway is just over there.”

Gold pulled an exaggerated face and said jokingly, “Women these days. So independent.” 

Belle laughed and said, “Yes, we are.”

They had come to be standing quite close together, and Gold’s breath caught as Belle reached to push back some of his hair and let her fingers drag along his jaw. Then she leaned forward and kissed him.

“Well, good night,” she murmured with a demure smile, and turned to go.

“Wait,” said Gold, and she turned back. He brought up his hands to cup her face, and then he kissed her, more deeply. 

“Now we can say good night,” he said, his voice soft.

For a moment they both smiled at each-other, and then Belle said softly, “Until Sunday.”

“Until Sunday,” he echoed, and she turned to go once more.


End file.
